


Broken Hearts Club

by raviiel



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29450502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raviiel/pseuds/raviiel
Summary: On Valentine's Day, Yukhei is dumped in the middle of the beer aisle.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	Broken Hearts Club

_"Please don't call me again."_

The line goes dead. In the middle of the aisle, Yukhei stands dumbfounded, staring into the colorful cases of beer. The fluorescent lights of the chilly shelves begin to blur in his vision as their cold runs into his skin, sinks under it, seeps between his taut muscle fibers, and leaves him paralyzed. He's frozen there so long that other shoppers move around him with stolen, weirded out glances.

His phone clatters to the ground with an audible _crack._

"Whoa," says a voice next to him. "Are you okay?"

A stranger picks the phone up and looks at Yukhei. When a hand falls to his shoulder, he blinks over, fat tears dribbling out of his dark eyes.

"Oh my god," the stranger breathes to himself, hand pulling back with wide eyes. He looks Yukhei up and down and spots the cherry-red stuffed bear under his arm while a bouquet of roses is curled into his hand, stems now being crushed by whitened knuckles. Sympathy immediately overtakes his features. "Dumped, huh?"

Yukhei doesn't mean for the sob to escape, and it attracts unwanted attention from even more nearby shoppers. Their looks are nowhere near as sympathetic as this stranger's.

"Whoa, okay, okay," he says. "Here, let me just..."

He sets his own shopping basket down to liberate the poor teddy from where Yukhei's arm strangles it. The roses come next with less struggle, since the stranger has to catch them from scattering to the floor when Yukhei lets go of them like they burn.

With both of those things out of the way, the stranger's hands flutter for a lost second as if unsure of how what the boundaries are here, but Yukhei's mind has cracked and everything is too foggy and jumbled for him to care. The tears silently rolling down his cheeks make it hard to see, and the taste of blood trickles onto his tongue from how viciously his teeth have gnawed on the inside of his lips in an effort to stop from completely splintering apart.

The stranger, having dumped the bear and flowers between the cases of beer, helpfully navigates Yukhei into the relative privacy of the aisles behind them, more out of the way of prying eyes. Lead makes up Yukhei's legs, leaving him to stumble over his feet, but the stranger is determined to keep him steady despite being a whole head shorter, and he miraculously succeeds. He pushes Yukhei around the corner of a small product shelf and then turns back to the beer.

Left alone, Yukhei's stream of consciousness spirals.

 _What do I do now do I go home she broke up with me broke up why what did I do wrong why today? Today? Today? I was going to I was going to I had we were going to what do I do why am I here I was going to we were going to—_ Because now he's alone and not even the stranger is there anymore. He just? Has to go home now and be alone with his broken heart? He's left to wallow in that by himself? Can he even drive like this?

His thoughts whorl out further and he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, bitten lips restraining the building urge to scream his throat raw.

"Okay, let's go."

A hand grasps his wrist. He startles at the reappearance of the stranger.

"H-Huh—"

The effort of suddenly having to keep up with this smaller man's pace threatens to break his ankles, brisk like he wants to get away from all these people as quickly as possible. Yukhei looks blearily over his shoulder; the red bear and roses shrink in the distance, abandoned between the cold cases of beer.

The stranger mercilessly leads them to self-checkout and places him next to the register before scanning things out of his basket.

"What are you—"

"Hush," says the stranger, and Yukhei does.

He scrubs at his eyes, trying to get a grip before the last shreds of sanity forsake him. He blinks several times and finds himself focusing on what the stranger is scanning; snacks, mostly, and ice cream, some instant food, and... beer. Two six-packs of beer—the strong stuff.

"Did you have anything else?" he asks, and Yukhei blinks dumbly at him. "To buy, did you have anything else you were buying?"

He numbly shakes his head.

"Alright then," the stranger replies, and inserts his credit card to check out. He bags the items and then gives one to Yukhei. "Come on." Yukhei stares at it, and then him, who rolls his eyes. He grabs Yukhei's wrist, upturns his hand, and then curls the plastic into his palm. "Come _on."_

Yukhei has no idea what's going on. He can't even think, let alone process all the shit this guy is doing right now, but the guy doesn't seem to care, once again grabbing Yukhei's wrist and dragging him out into the cold evening.

"I walked here. Did you drive?"

Yukhei nods.

"Give me your keys."

"But I—"

 _"Keys."_ He holds out an expectant palm.

This is crazy. Fucked up. But Yukhei fishes his keys out with clumsy fingers and hands them over before the stranger finds his car himself. Then, he's being led to his own car by someone he doesn't even know, a bag in his hand that he didn't buy, and he's not protesting.

The stranger opens the passenger door and all but pushes him inside before tucking the other bag into his lap, and then he climbs into the car too, fucking up Yukhei's driving setup for his smaller frame.

"You're a big boy," the stranger comments exasperatedly, adjusting the seat and mirrors. "Like, seriously huge."

Yukhei doesn't know what to reply to that, so he doesn't, sluggishly fumbling with his seatbelt. The stranger watches for a whole minute.

"Focus. Can't go if you don't have it on. You're like a giant baby, can do you anything yourself?"

The tone isn't unkind, more light and teasing, but Yukhei is so beaten that more tears spring to his eyes.

"Oh my god," the stranger says to himself. "Don't cry, I'm sorry, that was—Wow, okay, here." He reaches over and helps Yukhei with the seatbelt and then uses a sweater paw to wipe away his tears. "I don't live far from here so just. Wait until then, okay?"

The car revs to life, blowing through the cold outside, and the stranger immediately cranks up the heater after the interior goes dark. As it begins to move, Yukhei feels like he's drifting through a dream; him in the passenger seat and out of control, and some stranger driving him to god-knows-where. Exhaustion refuses to let him care though, strung out through every one of his muscles as each cell tries to recover from the body slam of heartbreak. He slumps in the seat, chin tucking into the collar of his black faux fur jacket.

The stranger doesn't comment on the muffled, broken whimpers on during the drive.

An eon passes before they park again. The stranger doesn't waste any time getting out, rounding to the passenger's side and opening the door. With zero regard for Yukhei's personal space, he leans in to grab both bags and then steps aside, and Yukhei realizes he's waiting on him to get out. He struggles with the seatbelt for a humiliating second, fingers more clumsy with the way he anticipates the stranger ostrasizing him, but instead, by the time he does manage to free himself, the stranger is holding out a hand.

They're silent as they walk to what could very well be Yukhei's death, but at this point, what does that matter? He just... would not give the slightest shit. He'd welcome it, even. Their footsteps echo in his pierced ears, luring him further away from reality, and he nearly knocks into the stranger when he stops at a door.

"You're too big to not be watching where you're going," the stranger grumbles as he unlocks the door and pushes inside. Yukhei stares after him, still on the other side of the door frame.

"Well?" demands the stranger, toeing his shoes off. "What are you waiting for?" He disappears around a corner with the bags.

"S... Sorry for intruding..." he mumbles when he steps in and also takes off his shoes.

"Don't be."

The man is in a small kitchen, unpacking the bags. The beer is set aside while a brass pot clangs onto a countertop.

"Make yourself at home," he says, motioning distractedly to the equally small living room. Yukhei shifts his weight again and again, fists tightening and loosening in turns. He stiffly leaves the entry way to settle at the low table in front of the couch, adjusting until the hard floor is bearable under him. His stare falls dead onto the surface, unfocused, tired.

The surreality of the situation is slowly but surely wearing off as the fact of the matter absorbs him. He's been dumped. On Valentine's Day. The cliché of it all would be hysterical if the truth hadn't plucked out each organ and skinned it for some kind of fucked up heartbreak stew. He slumps onto the table, flattening his cheek against the surface until it's painful. He sniffles.

Something—no, some _things_ brush up against his thigh. He yelps, startling up.

From the ground, two cats peer up at him, one more judgemental than the other as if saying, _How dare you scorn us after offering you the privilege of being near us._

"Oh," he blurts stupidly. "Cats..."

"They smell fear," the man teases from the kitchen. Yukhei glances over to see him half-smiling back. He looks at the cats again when one nuzzles against the side of his hand, and hesitantly, he lifts it to scratch behind the ear.

After a second of that, the cat, coffee colored, decides his lap is the perfect place for a nap, and leaps in. The other, sooty in the face but creamy elsewhere, deems Yukhei unworthy of its attention and turns away to leap onto and hide in a nearby tower.

"It's okay," the man comes over from the kitchen with one of the six-packs, "Louis is a snob. Don't be too hurt by it."

He can't be, not when the other one is cozy in his lap now. For the first time all night, a tiny smile tugs at his lips as he gently runs his hand over the cat's back.

The man pulls out one of the beer cans and pops the tab, sliding it in front of Yukhei.

"I just realized—I haven't introduced myself." He pulls out another can and pops it open for himself before taking a somewhat alarmingly deep swig of it. Yukhei blinks. "I'm Ten. You?"

_Ten._

His hand folds around the aluminum, dwarfing the can the way Ten's can't. He swallows thickly.

"Yukhei... Wong Yukhei." The rim of the can grazes his lips before he stops to put it back down. "Why am I..." His brow furrows as he avoids looking over. "I mean, why'd you do all this...? We don't—You don't even know me... Like."

Ten shrugs, drinking again and making a satisfied noise at the taste and burn. "Why not?" he asks, and then hums thoughtfully. "Should I have just left you there? You'd probably still be standing in that aisle."

He probably isn't wrong, though Yukhei doesn't want to think about it. He licks his lips. "I just... This is. A lot, I guess. You didn't have to—"

"I did though, so it doesn't matter. You shouldn't have to be alone after that."

 _After that,_ since Ten knows what happened. The bear and roses must be too cold to touch now. The can whines under his fingers. Ten nudges him with a foot.

"Drink, come on. I feel like getting drunk too."

It looks like his third take at the can empties it because he's already pulling a second out. Yukhei watches him open it and drink again.

"Slow down," he says despite himself.

"Hurry up." Ten rolls his eyes. Yukhei looks at the can.

 _Well, what the hell,_ he thinks. It's not like he had plans tomorrow anyway. Or the day after that. Or ever again. He carelessly chugs, earning a coughing fit when some of the liquid catches at the wrong pipe. The cat leaps out of his lap, annoyed by Yukhei's choking interrupting its nap. That's fine. He should get used to things leaving him.

"I mean," Ten says, vaguely amused, "not like that. We're trying to get drunk, not die."

 _Not like the difference matters,_ Yukhei thinks, taking the second offered can and muttering thanks.

Steam starts to whistle from the kitchen.

"Hungry? I'm making ramyun."

Nothing sounds appetizing but this will end badly if he binges on an empty stomach, so he nods anyway. To think; he had a dinner date tonight too, reservations and all... He hasn't even called to cancel. God, that'll be embarrassing. Tears prick at his eyes again.

Why did this happen? Is it him? Is he not good enough? What did he mess up? His overwrought brain grasps at straws that aren't there. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, they say, and maybe he'd just been too overbearing, overzealous, over-excited. Maybe he'd been suffocating. Annoying. Loud. Not good enough. Good enough looking, without the personality to match. People were always taken aback by that, and it never got easier to swallow. Maybe he should just learn to sit around and look pretty and never disappoint anyone ever again.

Dying would be easier, actually.

"You think way too loud, hon," Ten says as he returns with the large brass pot, a thin pad to protect the table from its heat, two bowls, and two pairs of chopsticks. How all of that is balanced in his hands, Yukhei has no idea. Ten is practically defying the laws of physics there. "Let's just chill, yeah?"

He drinks slowly from his second beer, nodding. Ten settles back down and serves them both, and then turns on the television to some primetime drama Yukhei has seen clips of before.

"Thanks for the meal..." he says weakly, and picks at the noodles before bringing them to his mouth. As soon as food fills his mouth, emotion wells up his throat, burning at his nose and eyes. He slurps and swallows and tears start dotting at his waterline, and he sniffles, lowering his forehead next to his bowl.

A hand gently falls to his back, beginning to rub in calming circles. He hears Ten slurp over the sound of the TV, but caring is caring, and the touch is soothing.

"M'so lame..." he mumbles into the table. "Crying like this. Lame."

"You're brokenhearted," Ten corrects firmly, still eating. "There's a difference. I think a little bit of crying is in order. We're not in public anymore, and Leon and Louis literally don't care about anything but themselves, so you might as well."

So Yukhei does. It's not loud—he doesn't let it be, but he doesn't hold back either. Snot runs down his lips, tears trail and drip under his chin uncomfortably, and he hiccups and stumbles his breaths and just feels bad, bad, bad for himself because what did he do wrong? What did he do to deserve this?

Ten eventually gets up to fetch tissues, wordless other than a soft, _Here,_ when he pushes them towards Yukhei. Yukhei goes through several, a small mountain piling up at the far corner of the table. Ten wrinkles his nose at it but doesn't comment.

"Eat. Drink." he insists instead, and so Yukhei does.

When alcohol circulates through his system and renders everthing fuzzier, softer, Yukhei slacks back against the couch, head dropping so he can stare at the ceiling.

"Some Valentine's Day, huh..." he mutters hoarsely after his fourth beer.

Ten hums, nursing a fifth. "You can talk about it, if you want," he offers quietly.

Yukhei blinks slowly, and then angles his head over. "You'd listen? You don't even know me."

"You're in my apartment," he says as if it's answer enough; and it is, Yukhei guesses. He drags his palms down his tired face.

"I dunno," he slurs. "I dunno what went wrong. Where I fucked up. I thought..." He sighs heavily, throat working overtime. "Dunno what I thought. No warning, no nothing. She just," his hands fall limply to the ground, knuckles knocking with sting against the floorboards. "She just sprung it on me. I keep try'na figure out... Keep try'na look back on everything. Was I too annoying? Too much? Did I hurt her somehow? Did she ever like me?"

He rambles, unsure of if Ten actually listens or not. Even if he doesn't, this will work its way out of his system one way or another. It's probably better that it's gushing out here in a safe environment under someone else's supervision than if he'd been left to his own glitching devices. He shudders, eyes pressing close; he doesn't want to think about how he'd have handled it if he'd been alone.

"I really thought..." He swallows. "It's not like I've had a _lot_ of relationships, y'know? But they..." His throat thickens again, every mistake dogpiling him at once. "Feels like it always ends like this... Has to be a me-thing, I think. M'the problem."

A hand grabs his. He blinks slowly again and looks down, hardly processing it. Ten is still looking at the TV that's too low to hear, but his face is stony. Sad.

"...What about you?" he hears himself ask, emboldened. "I mean. You're, um. Good-looking and all. Is there...?"

"No." Ten answers right away, coldly, but he doesn't let go of Yukhei's hand. "Not anymore."

Yukhei's mouth wobbles, now sad for both himself and Ten. He can't help but clasp Ten back in what is, at least, a small show of solidarity. He can do this much for someone who went so out of their way to help him.

"Join the club, I guess."

Ten snorts.

"Broken Hearts Club, huh?"

"Co-founders, president and vice-president."

That gets a little giggle. Yukhei feels the corner of his lips tick up. He reaches for his beer to drink again.

"Thanks," he says after, encouraged by the burn. "Thanks for this. You didn't have to."

Ten's thumb caresses over the ridge of a knuckle. "I've been there," he murmurs. "For what it's worth, you seem like a good person. Sometimes people just... have bad luck."

A story weighs against those words. Yukhei wants to ask, but it's not his place. He squeezes Ten's hand; not yet, anyway.

Maybe the alcohol is finally warming his bones, but he isn't so cold anymore, like it isn't freezing outside, like his heart hasn't been carved out. A small, stubborn piece seems to still cling to his ribs, ready to leap back out and fist-fight the world. He raises his beer and tilts it in Ten's direction with an ironic quirk of his lips.

"To the Broken Hearts Club?" he asks.

Ten looks at the raised can, then at him, and the chill melts off to reveal something softer. His cheeks curve into his eyes and his lips bend prettily. He reaches for and raises his own can right back.

"To the Broken Hearts Club."

Their hands stay tangled and laced for the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> i saw [this tweet](https://twitter.com/YoYoRamonShow/status/1360712668521373703) on my tl and next thing i knew, an hour and a half later, i woke up from a blackout with 3k words written and it was 3am. i would've posted earlier but my power went out this morning and didn't even come on until 9 hours later! texas weather is of the devil! it's fucking cold today! i can't feel my goddamn toes!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/LUKAILOFI) // [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/raviel)


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